


The Pros and Cons of Confessions

by iprefermymealsdead



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Grantaire doesn't know what bisexual means, Grantaire isn't really french, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, M/M, and i don't actually mention anyone, but still cute, editor creds to Jenna once again, except they're a debate club now, hella short, overly-detailed description of Jehan, sorry - Freeform, sorry bro, time jumps, wrote this in like 4 hours fuck it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 10:02:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6190561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iprefermymealsdead/pseuds/iprefermymealsdead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ah yes, the frustrated, angst-ridden mind of a high schooler just trying to get over his stupid crush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pros and Cons of Confessions

Grantaire is straight. 100% heterosexual. He likes people of the  _ female _ gender. That’s how it’s always been.  

So why is he suddenly getting so flustered every time that  _ boy _ looks at him? 

It started at the beginning of the year. Rumors were buzzing around about some hot new kid throughout R’s first couple of classes. A couple girls here and there gossiped about his “Achilles-like” physique in between lessons. The first time Grantaire saw this mythical kid, his first thought was  _ *Apollo _ . The new kid’s characteristics could only be compared to the god of the sun himself. 

“Hey,” Grantaire had said, sliding onto the table where Apollo sat in Grantaire’s English class. 

“Hey?” He responded, a slight French accent clear in his voice. 

“You’re the new kid everyone’s talking about, right?” Grantaire asked, knowing full well that he was. After all, he would have remembered if someone that looked so much like a Greek statue went to his school. 

“I guess so,” he answered hesitantly. There was something about the boy’s golden hair  that was making Grantaire’s stomach feel funny. 

“The name’s Grantaire.” R offered his hand to the new boy, who shook it confidently. 

“I’m Enjolras. Are you French?” He asked, his voice sounding a little more confident and excited. 

“Oui oui,” Grantaire said, wiggling his eyebrows. He wasn’t  _ really  _ French, per say, but his parents lived there for a while, so if this new kid thought he was French, R wasn’t going to disappoint. Enjolras began to bust out in rapid-fire French, grinning widely.  _ Oh no. _ Grantaire could speak a little bit of French, but only stuff his parents taught him. He certainly didn’t know enough to figure about what the hell Enjolras was saying. He thought he caught something that sounds like “bathroom ” and “angel” but that might have just been a combination of what Grantaire knew and what was going through his mind. When Enjolras finished, he looked at Grantaire expectantly, as if waiting for a response. Grantaire was about to ‘fess up to not being technically French when a boy with the longest hair Grantaire had ever seen ran up beside him. 

“Enjolras! We have another class together!” he exclaimed, freckled face bright with joy. Grantaire’s seen him in the halls before. Jean Prouvaire might have been his name, but something told R that he went by something else. wh

“Jehan!” Enjolras exclaimed, hugging the boy over the table.  _ Ah, that was it _ . 

“You’re R, right?” Jehan asked. Grantaire was surprised that Jehan knew his name, let alone his nickname. 

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Grantaire shook Jehan’s ringed hand before turning back to Enjolras. Grantaire thought back to where he might have known Jehan before this class. A study hall, maybe. It’s not like Jehan’s easy to forget. Today he was wearing a loose, white v-neck, pale blue jeans that had been rolled halfway up his calves, an army green jacket, and floral converse with several necklaces and bracelets of all sorts to accent the outfit. In a school full of Nike-clad fuckboys, Jehan stood out like a pastel sore thumb. 

“Enjolras and I have civics together,” Jehan supplied. “How are you settling in? Finding your classes ok?” He directed to Enjolras. 

“Yes, thanks. Your school is bigger than my old one, but the layout is fairly easy to navigate.” Enjolras paused before continuing. “I do have one question, though, Jehan.”

“Yes?”

“Does this school have a debate club?” Grantaire, despite his complete lack of interest in debate, signed up for debate club later that day. 

 

Grantaire's little problem contributed throughout the first semester and onward. If Grantaire’s final grade of C- in English was anything to go by, Enjolras wasn’t helping his academic focus. As much as he craved spending time with the boy, R was glad to leave that class behind. That was, until he walked into his first day of chemistry to see the blonde getting out his labeled binder ( _ Who the fuck labels their binders? _ ). His day got even better when the teacher decided to make them lab partners. There goes Grantaire's chem grade. “Ah, Grantaire,” Enjolras said after they took their seats together. He sounded less than thrilled. Enjolras had been making himself prominent in debate club while Grantaire was making himself rather infamous. As it turns out, R’s pretty good at debating. The only problem is that he’s only good at debating Enjolras (unless the other person is really annoying, then he’ll take them down). Grantaire spent the after school meetings hanging in the back of the classroom and shouting counterarguments at the object of his affections. R liked to watch the color of passion flood Enjolras’s cheeks while he retaliated against Grantaire. He liked to see the fury in his eyes. When Enjolras wasn’t speaking, Grantaire would draw him. He had a whole sketchbook full of Enjolras’s doodles, some more appropriate than others. It was probably creepy, but art as pure as Enjolras should be documented.

“Howdy, partner,” Grantaire slurred in response. Enjolras rolled his eyes in annoyance. 

“I look forward to seeing if you attempt to dispute scientific facts,” He muttered. Grantaire watched him neatly label the top of his notebook page with a uniform header using a blue pen. Even his notes are perfect. 

“You know me,” R smirked. “I live to annoy you.” Enjolras scoffed. 

“I should hope not.” Grantaire was constantly intrigued by Enjolras’s speech. Not only was his accent beautiful, but he spoke so properly. It was almost like he was from another time. 

“A time when people still dressed up for school,” R muttered under his breath. 

“Hm?” Enjolras asked, making Grantaire realize that he said that out loud. 

“Oh, nothing. I didn’t say anything.”  _ Smooth, R.  _ Enjolras was about to reply, but the teacher began class and cut him off. 

Here’s to the rest of the semester. 

 

Good things come to those who wait, right? If that’s true, then why has Grantaire been crushing on the same guy all school year? Instead of his feelings going away, R’s crush on Enjolras progressively gotten worse throughout the year. There was only one more week left in the school year and Grantaire felt like he should do something about his feelings. Eponine suggested bottling it all up and saving that conversation for his future therapist, but Grantaire was an artist. He wasn’t going to be able to afford a therapist. It was Friday and R had been spending all week working himself up to break the news to Enjolras. He figured that Enjolras could have the weekend to not hit him and then on Monday they would only have to see each other for a few more days. After that, Grantaire would drop out, move under a bridge, and probably die. It was the best way to go about the situation. Debate club that day went fairly normal, though Enjolras seemed on edge the whole time. He was leading the meeting as he had been since Combeferre, the upperclassman in charge of the club, realized that Enjolras was more than capable of doing so. Grantaire was planning on hanging back until the rest of the group had filtered out, but after Combeferre dismissed everyone, Enjolras waved to Grantaire to come to him. Grantaire approached the boy nervously, trying to figure out his motivation for calling Grantaire. “R,” He began. 

“E,” Grantaire replied. 

“We’ve known each other for a while now,” Enjolras said. 

“I guess you could say that, but in the grand scheme of the universe, 9 months isn’t even a speck on the grand timeline that is reality,” Grantaire retorted, mostly to delay the inevitable. Enjolras sighed. The room had completely cleared except for them. 

“This, this is what I want to talk to you about.” Enjolras sat down on a desk at the front of the classroom and ran a hand through his  _ glorious _ locks. 

“My woke af perception of time?” Enjolras gave Grantaire a tired and annoyed glare. 

“Of course not. I just want to know,” Enjolras sighed before continuing. “What is your problem?” This is not what Grantaire had expected at all. 

“My problem?” 

“Yes. Why do you find it so necessary to torture me? I mean, we lost 30 points on our presentation in chemistry last month because you added a slide stating that J. J. Thompson was a lizard person and the electron is a myth created by the illuminati! And- and you always interrupt me with the most ridiculous comments. Not to mention that you’re always distracting me in class. Why, R?” Grantaire wasn’t sure how to respond. 

“I- um…” He thought about the best way to phrase this.  _ Quick! Change the subject! _ “How do I distract you in class?” The last time he checked, Enjolras was the distracting one. Enjolras’s expression faltered. 

“You… I- uh, well,” Enjolras paused, looking nervous. “There’s a lot of little things, ok?” Grantaire was intrigued now.

“Like?” Enjolras blushed a bit. 

“Your arms, for one thing.” 

“My… arms?” The red in Enjolras’s cheeks deepened. 

“You always draw on them. They’re different everyday. And you always roll your sleeves

up so it’s not like I can’t  _ not _ see them.” Enjolras looked down at his shoes. 

“You like my arms. What else?” The other boy seemed to be rather interested in his shoes. 

“Please don’t laugh.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Enjolras made a strained noise. 

“I, err, really like your hair.” Grantaire was taken aback. He hated his hair. It was messy and wild and grew out in any and all directions. It was just one giant mess that he rarely cut and even more rarely combed. 

“I’d have to say, I’m more surprised about the hair than the arms.” Enjolras looked up sheepishly.

“I’m sorry, this must be incredibly uncomfortable for you,” Enjolras said, reaching for his bag. 

“Wait,” Grantaire interjected before Enjolras could try and leave. “I have a bit of a confession for you.” Enjolras retracted his hand. 

“Yes?”

“You distract me in class, too.” Enjolras’s blue eyes widened in surprise. 

“Would you care to elaborate?”  _ Here goes nothing. _

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Grantaire laughed nervously. He took a step towards the boy. “Your hands, for one thing.” Enjolras looked down at his hands as if they were suddenly the most interesting things ever. “I’ll miss entire lessons because I was watching you take notes with them.” 

“Go on,” Enjolras urged. Grantaire took another step forward. 

“You have the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. I could drown in those eyes.” They were standing so close together that Grantaire could almost hear Enjolras’s heart beat. 

“Grantaire, I am afraid I have a small confession for you,” Enjolras whispered, looking up at Grantaire through his long eyelashes. God, if Enjolras got any more beautiful, Grantaire might die. 

“Yes?” Grantaire leaned in closer to him. His hands moved on their own to cradle Enjolras’s perfect face. 

“I’m afraid I have a little bit of a crush on y-” Grantaire cut Enjolras off by sealing his lips with a deep kiss. Enjolras kissed back, hungrily. At last, Grantaire was able to know the sensation of running his hands through Enjolras’s silky hair. He felt Enjolras’s delicate fingers tangle themselves in Grantaire’s curls as they continued to feel each other’s lips against their own. When they finally broke apart, Grantaire remained inches from Enjolras’s face. Truthfully, he was worried that if he moved too far away, Enjolras would run away from him. 

“I also have a bit of a crush on you, Apollo.” 

“If that’s true, then why did you act like you hated me?”

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” Grantaire admitted. Enjolras broke out into a huge grin and wrapped R in a hug. “So, you wanna get coffee sometime?” Grantaire mumbled into Enjolras’s shoulder. 

“I would like nothing more.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello readers! I have a tumblr specifically for writing now: iprefermyfanfictionsdead.tumblr.com  
> Feel free to ask me anything, contact me for whatever reason, or even request something. Maybe I'll write it (but I probably won't)  
> Thanks!


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